I Wish Everybody Knew What's so Great about You
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: Sarah Fuller receives a visitor the night after she's released from the ICU. "You don't forget the face of the man who saved your life."


**Universe**: Pre-_The Following_, 2003

**Characters**: Sarah Fuller, Ryan Hardy

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Sarah Fuller receives a visitor the night after she's released from the ICU.

**Author's Note:** This is a very small foray into a character I've always been very, very interested in. Like so many others, she should've gotten a hell of a lot more screentime. Please read and enjoy.

. . .

She had been scrolling through old pictures of herself on her phone when she'd heard the light knock at the door of her hospital room. Her eyes had been glued to her to her perfect, smooth stomach, showcased nicely in a bikini from last summer's vacation, but she quickly closed the application when she realized she had a visitor. She didn't want her parents to see what she doing, for it would inevitably bring about another _You're still beautiful, sweetheart _talk, and she couldn't take any more of those. But when she looked up to greet them, her casual "Hey" stuck in her throat.

The man standing in her doorway was not her father, and her mother was nowhere to be seen.

For the split-second before she recognized the man, she thought it was _him_, come back to finish what he'd started, to finish her off. She had nightmares about it every time she fell asleep; she had daydreams about it every time she closed her eyes.

_He's come back to kill me._

But then the man stepped forward and he wasn't what she remembered—he was thinner, lankier, and he moved differently—and she realized with an audible sigh of relief that it wasn't the same man.

But it was another man, one she knew—not well, of course—but enough to recognize him anywhere, even here. You don't forget the face of the man who saved your life.

Just like you don't forget the face of the man who tried to end your life.

"Sorry, do you mind?" The man standing in her doorway knocked one of his knuckles dully against the metal frame, hesitating within it. He actually stayed there, in the doorway, waiting for her approval before coming in.

Everyone else barged in—the doctors, the nurses, her parents… No one ever asked for permission. No one ever thought to check with her. No one wondered, _Sarah, would you like to be alone today? _No one said, _You look tired, dear. I'll come back later._

"I can come back another time," the man in the door offered, already starting to step away. "If this isn't a good time, I—"

"No." Sarah shook her head. She had wanted to be away from her parents, yes, but that hadn't meant she wanted to be alone. Her imagination got too active when she was alone. She waved the man inside.

He took only two steps inside the room before stopping. He seemed wary of encroaching on her personal space, and he stood at the foot of her hospital bed as he spoke to her. "I—" He bent his head to clear his throat, and even when he lifted it again, kept his eyes on the foot of her bed. "I don't know if you remember me," he began quietly, "but—"

"Of course I remember you," she interrupted. His eyes shot up to meet hers at her quick reply, and she recognized that startlingly bright blue color at once. She remembered seeing it on campus as he'd walked around the grounds. She remembered seeing it as he crouched above her as she lay bloodied on the floor, just before he'd been ripped away. She could feel her hands start to shake again at that thought—it was all coming back—but before she could be consumed by memories again, she forced out, "You saved my life. Of course I remember you."

He smiled a tiny bit at that, and as much as she tried to smile back, she couldn't manage it. She could hear the glass shattering again as he was shoved into it; she could feel the knife being yanked out of her stomach. She could see _his_ face filling her vision as he knelt down beside her and started to draw that bloodied blade against her neck. She could hear the gunshot, too; it had been the last sound she'd heard before she'd blacked out. It had rung in her ears as her vision had clouded over.

"I… I thought you died," she admitted, slowly returning to the present moment. "I… I saw him stab you, after he grabbed the knife from me, and you weren't moving…"

For a second, he didn't respond. Then all he said was, "I thought you'd died, too."

She didn't press him to explain what happened; she knew as well as he probably did how awful it was to go over that night again and again and _again. _"The doctors say I'm going to be okay," she told him quietly. She waited for him to tell her he was okay, too, but he didn't say anything. Finally, she managed to force out: "Are you…?"

They both knew what she was asking after even though she couldn't finish the question. "I'm okay," he answered. He cleared his throat again, but the lie was caught there; he couldn't get rid of it. "Pacemaker," he muttered, gesturing to his chest. His throat cleared a bit more. "They released me about a week ago."

"Oh," Sarah whispered, not knowing what else to say. _I'm sorry _didn't mean anything these days.

He ducked his head again. "I would've come to see you earlier, but—"

"—visiting was restricted," she finished for him. Her eyes sought his, now understanding why he was here so late tonight. "I take it you didn't want to run into my parents in the ICU. Or here."

He tried to hide his grimace but didn't do a very good job.

"They don't blame you, you know," she told him. "You saved my life. They know that." She fiddled with her sheets for a moment. "They'd probably want to thank you, actually."

"I don't need any thanks," he muttered.

She looked up, surprised to hear such bitterness in his voice. She had expected to see it in his eyes, too, but he avoided her gaze.

"I didn't do my job," he continued, and she could almost hear the tinge of self-loathing coloring his words. "I didn't do my job and I don't deserve commendation for that."

"But you saved me," she reminded him after a moment. "You deserve commendation for that, surely." She waited, but he said nothing else. Finally, she sighed, and decided to change the subject. He was probably sick of talking about all this. She knew he was. "You saved my life," she repeated, and then smiled as she added, "and I don't even know your name. That's pretty weird, isn't it?"

That got a smile out of him, and she felt strangely lucky to see it. Something told her that he didn't smile at most people.

He took a couple steps towards her before holding out his hand. "Ryan Hardy."

She nodded, biting her lip. So she finally had a name for _That hot FBI agent, _as they'd called him on campus. "Sarah Fuller," she replied, awkwardly presenting him with her left hand instead of her right. Her right was still stitched up, and it hurt to lift. He shook her left all the same. And his eyes didn't linger on her right.

"I remember seeing you in his class sometimes."

"Yeah." Mr. Hardy nodded, released her hand. "I tried to look in when I could."

"How…" She eyed him for a second. She hoped she wasn't bothering him with this, but she had to know. "How long did you know it was him? You know, before?"

"I didn't," Mr. Hardy answered. He looked around him, spotted a chair beside her bed, and motioned to it. She nodded that he could sit, and he did so. "I suspected, I thought _Maybe… _But no one else bought it, and to be honest, I was on the fence, too. He was careful; didn't leave any hints. When he went after you and…" He broke off, his eyes dropping to the floor.

It took Sarah a few seconds to say her dead friend's name: "Annie."

Mr. Hardy nodded. "When he went after you and Annie, that was the first time I knew I for sure I was right. Before that, I'd go back and forth. I felt like I was focusing on him too hard, but… It's hard to let go of your only suspect and go back to square one. I tried following him for a while, tried to find proof, but that didn't amount to anything. So then I just started walking around the campus at night, trying to come up with something else, or find some clues somewhere—that's what I was doing when I ran into you two."

Sarah nodded. She remembered. She'd been laughing and talking with Annie when they'd ran into him; three minutes later Annie was dead and her teacher was coming towards her with a knife.

"So you really didn't know, then?" she asked. "Not until he showed himself, and tried to kill us? You didn't know it was him?"

Mr. Hardy shook his head. " No. I should've. I should've known. But I didn't."

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she played it safe and stayed quiet. She waited for him to change the subject, and soon, he did.

"So, how are you doing here? Are you feeling okay? Do you need the nurse or anything?"

Sarah smiled, shaking her head at his worries. "I'm okay. They've got me doped up on a ton of painkillers, still, so I don't really feel anything yet." She sighed, "The recovery's going to be a bitch, though."

"They've talked to you about that already?" Mr. Hardy asked, shocked. She had just barely gotten out of the ICU; he thought they should've at least given her some time to adjust before dropping her future right on her head. She might be twenty, but she was still a kid.

But Sarah shook her head. "No," she answered. "They haven't talked to me about it. But I'm studying to be a med student. I figured out what the recovery would be like."

"Med student?" Mr. Hardy sounded surprised. "Really?"

Sarah couldn't manage a careless smile, so she looked at her hands while she spoke instead of meeting his eye. "You thought I was a lit kid, didn't you?" she murmured. "No. I enjoy it, but... It was just a gen ed." She let out a weak laugh. "Can you believe that? If I'd taken another lit class with another teacher, I wouldn't be sitting here, sliced to ribbons. Annie wouldn't be dead." She studied her hands, still smooth, perfect, unblemished. They fisted and twisted the thin, baby blue hospital-issue blanket that was spread over her. "Medicine is my field," she told him firmly, her sharp eyes lifting to his. They held his fiercely for a moment, as if challenging him to question that.

But he only nodded. "Medicine. Okay. Do you know what type you want to go in?"

"I want to work with kids," Sarah replied at once, finally eager to talk. For once, she wasn't being asked about how she felt, or if her wounds were healing properly, or if she wanted to talk about what had happened. She hadn't talked about something she loved in so long; it surprised her how good it felt to discuss something she actually wanted to discuss instead of recounting her most recent nightmare. "I want to be a pediatrician."

"Wow," he said, and he actually sounded impressed. That made her smile for a second. "That's going to be tough, you know," he warned her, like everyone else did. "All those sick kids; not many people are willing to deal with that."

"Well, I'm willing to deal with it," Sarah replied. She still hadn't managed to keep that defensive edge out of her voice when she talked about her future plans. Especially now, after what happened… She and her parents had had too many long talks about it to count. "And as for it being tough…" She tried to shrug, but it hurt too much. She tipped her chin towards her stitched-up abdomen. "Well, it can't be any tougher than this, can it?"

"Hope not," Mr. Hardy answered, and he sounded like he genuinely meant it.

"Thanks," she whispered. She looked over him, just staring at him, for a minute. "It was really nice, you know, of you to come visit me," she finally said. "You didn't have to."

Mr. Hardy shrugged, looking down. "I just wanted to check on you. I heard you'd gotten out of the ICU; I was hoping you'd... be okay," he finished lamely, though they both knew she never again would be. Neither of them would.

But she didn't call him out on his poor choice of words. There were only so many things one could say in a situation like this. Very few of them were right. But he tried, and she supposed that was what mattered. "Thank you, Mr. Hardy. I'll be… Well, I'll be fine eventually, I guess."

"I'm sure you know this already," he began, leaning forward in his chair, "but they've arrested him. He's in police custody." In a rare moment, he met her gaze and held it intently as he told her, "He isn't going to get out. He isn't going to attack you again. You're safe."

Sarah nodded, surprised by how much his words touch her. It wasn't like she hadn't heard them before, but it was different hearing them from him.

When she had woken up after surgery, she'd assumed Professor Carroll had been killed. He'd taken a bullet to some part of his back; that should've killed him, right? But of course it hadn't. Her mother had had to leave the room while her father had told her—tears in his eyes—that he was still alive.

Her parents had told her again and again that he was arrested, that he was never going to come after her again, but they'd been scared and fearful when they'd spoken—as if they didn't really believe their own words—and if they didn't believe them, how could she? The police officers who had come by to visit and interview her had also sang the same tune—and they'd done so a bit more convincingly—but their eyes had always wandered to her abdomen and she knew they were wondering what she'd look like with a couple more knife wounds in her. But Mr. Hardy looked her in the eye and spoke with the most convincing honesty she'd ever heard. She knew he believed wholeheartedly the words he was saying, and she couldn't help but believe them, too.

_He isn't going to get out. He isn't going to attack you again. You're safe._

"Thank you," she told him gratefully. "I… I really appreciate you saying that. It means…" She hadn't meant for her voice to crack, but it did anyway: "It means a lot to me."

He nodded, but his eyes fell from hers. She could tell from the way he averted them that she was making him uncomfortable, and she did her best to pull herself together. The last thing she wanted to do was drive him away. But it looked like she was too late, for he was already on his feet and headed to the door.

"Mr. Hardy, wait."

He stopped just a foot away from the exit. It took him a couple seconds to turn around and face her. "Yeah, Sarah?"

"I never—never properly thanked you," she told him quickly. "For saving my life, I never said thank you."

"Oh…" He loitered awkward in the doorway, clearly wanting to leave, but not bold enough to do so.

"Thank you," she said, releasing him.

He nodded, and even smiled at her, before he said goodnight and left. She watched him go, wonder when—if—he would come back. There was more she wanted to say to him, more she wanted to learn from him.

But her eyes were growing heavy now, and she supposed it was for the best that he'd left when he did.

She fell asleep soon after he left, and for the first time since she'd been admitted to the hospital, she slept through the night. No night terrors. No screaming. No tears. Maybe she really would be okay.

. . .

. . .

**Author's Note: **Thank you for reading! Reviews are love! I've always been so interested in Sarah and I would love to see what you guys thought of her in this. :)


End file.
